


Room only for our own kind.

by rxcrcfllptrs



Series: Short and Sweet [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, M/M, bioshock infinite au, guy kissing, yolo an' shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the signs read no gringo, but somehow we'll find our way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room only for our own kind.

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes are mine.

It exhilarates him, this forbidden dance between two people. In such a day and age, in a place like Columbia, he'd be shot twice and then run over by a tram. He might even get to witness what the sky looks like, in a view that threatens to kill him the moment he hits the ground.

Joel Heyman might or might not have replaced beer bottles and going to the range for this.

Under hushed lights of a sleeping street, he's being pulled by a hand smaller than his, but slots right in like it was made for him. It's been raining, leaving pavements dripping wet and residents soggy, more cold blasting through when the sun sets. No one's around to see them. It's the perfect time for such a private event, one that only the two of them are invited to.

His companion pulls down his hood, the dull in their hazel eyes a contrast to the spark in his dilated own.

They're in an abandoned district, the outskirts of the great city of Columbia where only the monsters in children's stories lurk in. They call them savages, outcasts, abominations, even so far as calling them devils. They call themselves the Vox Populi. He calls them people, his companion calls them family. 

He admits it, okay? He's taken with a member of the Vox, someone younger than him (years apart, but they manage to bridge the gap every time), someone that isn't even a she. It's a connection so impossible to happen in such a time, and yet it did. Love is such a strong word, and he can feel it crouching behind him, ready to pounce.

And he's ready to pounce right now, when they reach a corner too dim, too empty. They fill it with bodies that yearn for one another, lips pressed together to speak words too small, too trivial if said aloud.

Someday, he'll die. He might die of disease, he might die staring the barrel of a gun, maybe even die on the ground, away from Columbia and away from the war between the Vox and the Founders. Maybe he'll live until a time he and Ray could walk free through the streets without the looming threat of death on their heads, maybe he will. He's damn sure he'll see it with Ray alongside him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary are lyrics from Vienna Teng's "No Gringo".


End file.
